


One for Sorrow, Two for Joy

by Carenejeans



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M, Multi, hl_remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-31
Updated: 2005-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carenejeans/pseuds/Carenejeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to Mog Decarnin for beta-reading and for valiantly trying to drum the correct usage of lie/lay into my dense noggin.</p><p>A remix of <b>Double Trouble, Double Joy</b> by ev_vy.</p>
    </blockquote>





	One for Sorrow, Two for Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Mog Decarnin for beta-reading and for valiantly trying to drum the correct usage of lie/lay into my dense noggin.
> 
> A remix of **Double Trouble, Double Joy** by ev_vy.

A touch of soft lips lingered on Duncan's as he opened his eyes on bleak gray morning light, but the dream faded before he could capture it, driven away by the mocking call of waterside birds outside the porthole of the barge. He closed his eyes, hoping to fall back into the dream -- and into the arms of his shadowy nighttime lover, but it was no use. He sat up, and rested his elbows on his knees, his forehead on his fists. Empty bed blues, he thought. He'd been alone too long.

He swung out of bed and stood in the dim light filtering through the portholes of his barge. A cold shower and a run along the quay; that was one option. The other was better. Cocooned in the steamy warmth of the shower, he closed his eyes again, and imagined.

It was an old habit, the imaginary friend in the shower, brought out at times of loneliness, or sometimes just for efficiency's sake. Most of the time it was a woman's body, but now the body he conjured up out of air and heated water matched him in strength; lean and muscular, but for all that insubstantial. The feel of his flesh thrusting against his own flesh brought the fantasy to life -- almost -- and his fantasy slid into his almost-forgotten dream. A man, moving against him. In his dream he had spoken a name: Methos.

  
"Hell." Duncan groaned aloud, and almost stopped, almost turned the water clear over to cold, but... didn't. Images swelled and heaved, his hand moved faster, his breath came sharper, and Methos slipped away -- to Duncan's bed, into the arms of another man. His wet skin glistened as he slid against the other man, who laughed and turned his head to Duncan -- that nose, that profile, the short spiked hair and impish grin: Methos.

The Methos on top kissed a slow trail down the other Methos's spine, stopping at each vertebra. His hands slid down the other's arms; their fingers twined together.

Duncan couldn't look away from the soft mouth, imagining the caress on his own body. He touched himself, noticing that Methos mirrored his movements, exploring the body of the other Methos who had risen to his hands and knees.

He could almost feel himself touching Methos and being touched by him. He wanted to slip between the two bodies and to feel the muscles ripple beneath and above him, to be surrounded by the heat, to be filled and to fill.

"Duncan," one Methos whispered, and Duncan let two sets of hands pull him into their strong embrace. It was so easy, after all, to lose himself in the tangle of their bodies, the touch of their hands hot, branding his skin.

Their fingers dug into his body, their fingernails scraped along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, along his arms and down his sides. Two tongues licked him, two mouths kissed him, and he tried to keep up, to give back as much as he was given. He felt the heavy breaths over his skin, the moans stifled against his body. The world came down to touch, narrowed, and narrowed down again, until there was nothing but the hard aching pleasure, and release.

Duncan opened his eyes. The water running down his face was getting cold, cooling down his hot skin. Two of them. "Oh, God," he said aloud.

He'd have to go on that run after all.

\-------------------

It shouldn't have taken him by surprise. It didn't, not really. Methos had been moving to the center of his thoughts for a long time now. First as a legend, then a puzzle, a pain in the ass, a monster he could barely comprehend, a friend that pulled and tore and sometimes laid balm over his pulled and torn heart. He had given up on the why, and had tried to let Methos's presence fill a place in his life as he would a beautiful but enigmatic piece of art. Not a perfect work of art, but chipped, with small and almost invisible flaws in a surface deceptively smoothed and impenetrable. The interior more complicated than the formula for all the angles and planes of Methos's exterior.

Methos was either a job of work or a work of art. But -- two of them, he thought again. Wasn't one enough?

He rarely looked deeper into what his dreams brought him, but this one struck a chord. It was something he'd heard or read but dismissed as an old wives' tale. Something about twins and harmony, or maybe conflict... About decisions that had to be made. He shook his head. But the flashing images of the two lean bodies stayed with him through the long day he filled with busy chores.

\-------------------

Methos appeared in the evening, bearing the gift of a bottle of Macallan, and his earlier dreams or fantasies flared again in Duncan as their fingers touched and Methos seemed to double in his vision. To his chagrin, he felt his cheeks warming, and turned away quickly to busy himself with the glasses.

"The blush on your cheeks is charming, MacLeod," Methos drawled, making Duncan blush more deeply "Who is she?"

"Nobody." Duncan's bit off the word more sharply than he meant to.

Methos raised his eyebrows. "It's like that, is it? You can tell me -- not that you're one to kiss and tell."

"There's nothing to tell." Duncan said, handing him a glass.

"Nothing about Nobody. Come on, MacLeod, there's nothing you can tell that would surprise me. Been there, done that, forgotten most of it -- which can be a blessing." His eyes met Duncan's with a spark of defiance, then shifted away.

"Like you forget to pay your beer tab?" Duncan said, quickly, to cover over the awkward moment.

"I pay my beer tab!' Methos looked affronted. "Eventually." He paused to drink from his glass, and Duncan watched his face as he savored the scotch, wondering how the taste of it would mingle with the taste of Methos's mouth.

"Maybe you should call her."

"Who?"

"Nobody."

Duncan ignored him and drank from his glass.

"You have got it bad, haven't you?"

"What?"

"Gulping down your precious scotch that way. Nobody, indeed."

"Would you mind your own business?"

"It is my business."

Duncan froze. "What?"

"My business. You." He reached out suddenly and touched Duncan on the chest. "Too important to lose, I've told you that. Besides," he went on complacently, not seeming to notice Duncan's sudden tension, "I have a pact with Amanda to keep your sorry head connected firmly to your neck."

"You and Amanda. That's just great. Haven't you two learned your lesson?"

"You're welcome," Methos said.

"For what?" Duncan's voice rose in exasperation.

"Thank you for trying to save my life," Methos said.

"Thank you," Duncan said, making an exaggerated bow. "And thank Amanda when you see her. Now, please, butt out of my love life."

Methos smiled.

Duncan's chest hurt. Damn the man.

Both of him.

\-------------------

Methos hung around, making an amiable pest of himself until it was too late for him to sleep anywhere but on Duncan's couch -- or rather, on the floor in front of the still-warm fireplace, in a snug a pile of cushions ransacked from the couch and blankets nabbed from Duncan's bed.

"Make your self comfortable," Duncan said dryly, pulling a blanket from a cupboard to cover his denuded bed.

"Mm, yes," Methos said, stretching his feet towards the fireplace. Duncan could almost see his toes curling in pleasure, and it sent a warm bolt of pleasure through him. He sat cross-legged on the floor next to Methos.

"You've made my barge look like a slumber party," he said. Not that he was unhappy about it.

"We could make smores." Methos said contentedly. "Or do our hair.

"Watch bad movies."

"Talk about our boyfriends."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"Do you.... have a boyfriend?" Duncan asked, trying to keep his voice light while a sudden dread pulled at his heart.

"Me?" Methos laughed. "No. Nor a girlfriend, more's the pity."

"You've had them, though, haven't you? Male lovers I mean."

Methos's face was bland, but his eyes glittered. "A few."

"A few?"

"Few hundred, probably."

They watched the fire.

"You?"

Duncan smiled. "A few."

"Ah."

Duncan looked into Methos's laughing eyes. Damn the knowing bastard.

  
Duncan lay in his bed alone, running imagined scenarios through his mind for getting Methos in his bed. The one that appealed most right now was to simply grab him by the scruff of his neck and drag him there. But he did nothing. Just let the fantasies reel out in the dark of his mind, until dreams overtook fantasy.

Duncan woke up to the smell of coffee. Methos sighed in his sleep and Duncan smiled, letting his hand rest on the other man's bed-warmed skin. He heard the soft rustling of a newspaper and looked up to see Methos sitting at the kitchen counter engrossed in reading, holding his coffee cup in the air halfway to his lips. Methos emerged from the bathroom, resplendent in nothing but a towel that he pulled off with a flourish as he passed the bed, giving Duncan a wink. The Methos in the bed with him stirred and opened his eyes. The Methos at the counter turned and smiled.

They all looked at him.

  
"Ungh!" Duncan sat bolt upright in bed, staring around wildly. But the barge was empty. Methos was gone. All three of them.

\-------------------

Duncan leaned against the kitchen counter, watching his pot, waiting for it to boil. He wasn't sure if he wanted to cook, if Methos wasn't coming to add the spice. The sudden presence of another Immortal made him lick his lips first, reach for his sword second. But it was only Amanda. A perfectly amiable Amanda, lovely as always Amanda. He wondered when she had become "only" Amanda.

"Trick and treat," she said cheerfully.

"That's trick _or_ treat, Amanda," Duncan said, taking an unwieldy bag from her arms.

"Is it? Hm." She rummaged in the bag. "Depends on how you look at it, I suppose."

"A bag of treats for dinner," Duncan said. "A loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou with a hidden agenda."

"Now Duncan, is that nice?" She stood on her toes and kissed him. "Methos said you'd be starving," she said, pulling a fragrant loaf bread from her bag, a wedge of stilton and a pair of perfect pears. "He said you were wasting away," she sighed as she said it. "Pining for some Nobody." The sigh left her voice and her eyes narrowed.

Then she grinned. "And I quite liked the way he tried to look happy to see me, but was a bit disappointed that it wasn't you." Amanda frowned. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that when you saw me at the door, you felt the same way. Anyway," she continued to pull tempting foods from her bag, "he told me that you were behaving strangely, and almost begged me to put you right."

"I'm fine. I'm not wasting away, and I'm not pining for nobody. Anybody." Duncan had a quick, hard vision of three pairs of grey-green eyes looking at him and surreptitiously tried to ease the tightness of his trousers across his crotch. He sat down and tried to cross his legs casually.

Amanda, of course, noticed, and arched one delicate eyebrow and pursed her lips -- which had the immediate effect of making him harder. Smiling wickedly, she climbed into his lap.

"The old know-it all is obviously wrong," Amanda purred. "You don't seem a bit wasting away to me."

Duncan grinned helplessly and she kissed him. "Let's work up an appetite," she said, nibbling at his ear. It was hard to think of anyone else when his arms were full of Amanda, and slowly, thoughts of Methos waned.

  
Duncan looked down fondly at Amanda snoring in his arms, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Amanda was gone. Methos stirred against his chest, his breath warming Duncan's skin.

Methos chuckled behind him, his breath raising the hair on Duncan's neck, and snaked an arm around Duncan, running his hand across Duncan's bare chest and reaching out to ruffle the other Methos's hair. A short gasp of pleasure drew Duncan's gaze to the floor, where two men lay alongside each other on a pile of blankets, their pale skin glowing against the cloth, pressed together at thigh and cock and lips. "Methos," Duncan breathed. As the two bodies pressing against him trembled slightly at his whisper, Duncan thought he could feel the two men on the floor tremble in each other's arms.

Duncan woke up abruptly, wincing from a stinging pain between his eyes. Half-dreaming, he thought another Methos had come up upon him unawares, and clobbered him with something.

"Duncan, will you wake up!"

He opened his eyes, one hand automatically protecting his face from another blow.

"You're dreaming," Amanda said, looking both irritable and irresistibly tousled. Automatically he reached out and placed a hand between her breasts. She shoved at him in sleepy exasperation. "Wake up and go to sleep."

Duncan smiled wanly, and let Amanda snuggle him back to sleep.

\-------------------

"You're back," Duncan said, trying to sound casual, while his heart was singing.

"Left my books," Methos said, zeroing in on a precarious stack next to the couch. He frowned as he tried to pull a book from the bottom of a stack without toppling it.

"And your toothbrush," Duncan said. He didn't remember Methos bringing in all these books. His bulky backpack seemed to be bottomless, like a magician's hat. Duncan watched Methos settle into the couch as if he owned it, and wondered what other magical things Methos might pull from his trick bag, and whether he stay around long enough for Duncan to find out. Duncan's throat constricted and he looked away.

"You okay?" Methos said, without looking up from his book.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Duncan was relieved to hear his voice come out strong and clear.

"You seem a bit abstracted." Methos turned a page

"I spent the night with Amanda," Duncan said dryly. "As you well know, since you sicced her on me."

"Duncan! That's no way to speak of a lady." At Duncan's rude noise, Methos carefully dog-eared the page of his book and leaned back. "And I didn't sic her on you. She's your girlfriend."

"Girlfriend." Duncan said the word suspiciously, as if it might bite him. "That's worse than calling her a lady."

"Well, she's yours, at any rate."

"When she pleases to be."

Methos smiled. Duncan was suddenly sharply aware of the similarity between Amanda and Methos -- who in his way was also his, when he pleased to be. His friend, at least. For the first time he wondered what a long ... intimate relationship with Methos might be like. Not exclusive, he'd bet. This thought caused a sharp pain to slice through his heart. Get a grip on yourself, man, he thought. He thought back to when he and Amanda had first come together, and first parted. That had hurt too, at the time. Now she drifted -- or burst, or zinged like an arrow -- into his life, and drifted back out again.

"Is she coming back tonight? Should I make myself scarce?"

"I have no idea." Duncan suddenly wished she wasn't. He wished -- he wanted an evening alone with Methos, to make his move, or to torment himself playing chess with the man he wanted to bed so badly his teeth hurt.

  
In the end, they sat together in companionable enough silence, Duncan bent over a book and Methos slouched under one.

A soft light illuminated the other end of the barge, and Duncan looked up to see Methos sitting at the small table. Four of him, playing cards, three of him nearly nude. One Methos stood and laughingly unbuckled his belt. He pushed his jeans down to reveal blue-and-silver paisley shorts. Grinning, he turned slowly in a stripper's dance, wagging his ass cheerfully to the laughter of the others. Duncan tried to sit up, but Methos laughed and pulled him back down to the bed. Before Methos covered Duncan's body with his, Duncan thought he saw Amanda at the table, dressed from toe to the chin in glittering gold.

\-------------------

Six, seven, gone to heaven, Duncan thought. Seven deadly sins, seven seas. A week of days, he thought, a triangle. I'm losing my mind.

"Penny for your thoughts." Amanda pressed her freshly glossed lips together and pursed them out, snapping the compact closed and stashing it in a tiny handbag. Watching her perform this small ritual, one he'd seen so many times, Duncan felt a twinge of something not quite lust and a good deal... like something an old husband might feel. It was strange, this long love of theirs. Unnatural, like themselves. Duncan had read somewhere once that one problem with modern marriage (he must have read this fifty years ago) was that they lasted longer than they had in the past. In the bad old days, a mortal marriage lasted -- on average -- a little over seven years, until death did them part.

"I was just thinking of Gina and Robert," Duncan said.

"Were you? Nice couple." Amanda scooted over close to him. "Three hundred years," she sighed. "How romantic. How committed. How... absolutely insane."

"They don't have your little problem with commitment," Duncan said, smiling.

"It's not a problem," she said stoutly. It's a survival instinct."

Duncan laughed, and pulled her to him. "Three years with you would make the most patient man long to take your pretty head," he said. "Three hundred and he'd likely take his own."

"Ha, ha." Amanda gave him a swift kiss. Duncan was licking the lipstick from his lips and grimacing when the presence of another Immortal made them both tense and reach for their swords.

"Sorry, children. Am I interrupting?"

"Methos!" Duncan tried to look annoyed, but it was a losing battle. Amanda, next to him, did look annoyed, but shrugged philosophically and slid from the bed.

"I have this sudden inexplicable urge to go to Joe's," she said, moving in a feminine flurry of gathering up purse and coat -- and sword.

"What a coincidence," Methos smiled. "I was stopping by on the way there."

"All right," Duncan said, reaching for his own coat. Ah well, he thought. If I can't get laid I can at least get drunk.

\-------------------

Methos bent over him, amused "Nighty-night." Somewhere in the darkness behind him, Amanda giggled.

Duncan felt ill-used. He was completely and utterly drunk, irritated that his friends were laughing at him, and ashamed that Methos was tucking him in bed.

He heard Methos and Amanda bumping about -- they didn't sound exactly sober, either -- and saying goodnight. They seemed to be saying goodnight for a long time. Duncan frowned and tried to sit up, but fell back on the bed catty-cornered. He heard the door of the barge bang shut and Methos returning. He protested as Methos grabbed his feet and hauled him right way to.

"Were you kissing my girlfriend?" he said thickly.

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell about a lady," Methos said, his voice slow and deliberate.

"I was talking about you and Amanda," Duncan pointed to emphasize each word.

Methos seemed to find this terribly funny -- more funny than it actually was. He went from stifled giggles to belly holding laughter in seconds, falling over sideways on the bed next to Duncan, who, helplessly, laughed along with him.

"Let me tell you a sss... sssecret, Duncan," Methos floundered around awkwardly until his lips were next to Duncan's ear.

"What's your secret," Duncan said, smiling and cocking his head to invite Methos's confidence.

"I... I... " Methos said in Duncan's ear. "I forget" he laughed, and then rolled over on his back, gasping and snorting in a fit of hilarity.

Duncan's eyes were streaming with tears as he struggled to one elbow. "I--" he tried, but Methos's laughter shook the bed and the words out of his mind. "I--"

"Ay, Ay, MacLeod," Methos screwed his eyes shut and banged the top of his head. "We are drunk."

"As... skunks!" Duncan's elbow slipped and he sprawled half over Methos. Their noses were almost touching. Duncan looked at Methos's nose and felt his eyes cross, and felt Methos's chest shaking under his. "I have a secret too."

Methos looked at him owlishly. "Do you, now?"

Duncan leaned closer. "Yes, I--" Then his mouth was on Methos's, sloppily, sideways, hungrily. Their teeth knocked together and Methos groaned, and then, to Duncan's chagrin, started laughing against his mouth. Methos's hands were in his hair, he was pushing Duncan away -- but not far. He rolled Duncan over on his back and peered down into his face. Duncan wanted to pull his face closer, kiss him again, not miss this time. But Methos was shaking his head.

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, you are drunk off your Highland ass."

"I'm not--" Duncan tried to put an arm around Methos, but suddenly it was as if all his limbs had gone to sleep.

"Pity, too," he thought he heard Methos say softly, as everything went dark.

\-------------------

Methos and Amanda sat in front of his fireplace, chatting amiably about... Duncan listened for a moment. Nothing. He let their chatter fall back into pleasant background, letting contentment steal over him. Lover, friend. Lover, lover. Could it happen? Was Methos waiting, or was he dreading the moment when a touch turned to a caress? Would he return it, or turn away? For the moment, let it be. Three friends. Compadres. Duncan smiled and sipped warm scotch.

He closed his eyes, and opened them. And there they were. Methos, head bent close to Amanda, who ran her fingers up his spine. Duncan stirred on the couch, wanting to protest, but before he could, another Methos sauntered in and sat next to Amanda on the other side. Not again, Duncan thought, as another Methos, and another, entered from God knows what doorway in Duncan's mind. Seven, eight, lay them straight -- Duncan felt the hysteria rise in him and clutched his glass. "Straight" was not a word to apply to Methos. Twisty, convoluted, secret, guarded, a switchbacked character if there ever was one. The Methoses moved like dancers, twined amongst themselves, leaving caresses and kisses on cheeks and ears and noses, bumping hips and pressing crotches. It was too much. How could any man live with so many selves? Duncan felt a touch on his shoulder and looked up. Methos leaned down and kissed him softly, smiled, and turned away. The others were also moving away, receding like a wave returning to the sea. Duncan felt bereft, alone, shipwrecked.

He closed his eyes.

"Make a wish, Duncan!" Amanda's voice broke into his reverie. He opened his eyes. There were only three of them in the room, though Methos looked ... more solid than he had before. More substantial. More densely layered.

"A wish?" he said, feeling off-kilter.

Amanda laughed, holding up her hand. On her second finger was a silver ring with a deep red stone. "A carbuncle. For wishing."

"Isn't a carbuncle like a boil?" Methos scoffed.

Amanda batted at him with her hands. "A stone, you idiot. A lucky stone to wish on."

I wish -- Duncan thought.

Methos looked up and their eyes met.

"You make a wish and you end up waltzing with the Devil," Methos said.

"I've always liked a waltz," Duncan said softly.

Amanda watched them through her cat's eyes, stroking the stone.

\-------------------

"Drink your coffee before it gets cold, Duncan." Amanda frowned at him from across the small cafe table.

"Yes, dear," he said, raising the cup to his lips and smiling.

That made her smile too, a little sadly. "I guess it is time to move on -- for a while," she added hastily. "We sound like old married people. Next thing you know we'll be flinging T'ang vases at each other.

"Ming," Duncan corrected her automatically.

Amanda waved her hands, "Whatever. Duncan, I just want you to be happy. I don't mind leaving you here with him -- well, I do," she said at Duncan's raised eyebrows. "But you're just miserable. And that -- that just -- it makes me want to --" she made a slicing motion with her hands.

"Not take his head! Amanda, it's not worth that."

"Can I just hamstring him or something then?"

"It's not him -- he's not the problem." Duncan turned the cup between his fingers. I see him --" The visions of a roomful of Methos crowded and confused his thoughts. "But I don't know which one is really him," Duncan said.

Amanda reached over and patted his hand. "Yes, Duncan, you do."

\-------------------

Duncan pulled on his sweats and sat on the edge of his bed to put on his shoes. Quietly, he slid past Methos buried in his nest of blankets on the floor. Amanda was gone, and Methos had moved in. Duncan paused in the kitchen area to splash some water over his face. Cold water. The snug warmth of the blankets and the man in wrapped in them tugged at Duncan almost -- but not quite -- irresistibly. His cock was half roused, and it would take only a touch from Methos to make it fully hard.

What would he do if Duncan slid into bed beside him? If Duncan -- a sober, all-faculties-engaged Duncan -- kissed him? He couldn't read Methos; the man didn't want to be read. He was as tightly closed as one of his precious books. But he had to know that Duncan wanted him. He must realize the drunken kiss wasn't a... drunken kiss, a misplaced longing for the one who had left.

Methos stirred and Duncan turned away and quickly left the barge. Jogging along the quay, he tried to put Methos out of his mind, but somehow... there were places all along the way -- all through Paris, Duncan thought -- that made Methos come forcefully to the front of this thoughts.

The path he jogged down now was where they had taken their first walk together, when Duncan still thought of Methos as a legend, come suddenly to life. He'd been so much in awe of him then; though Methos had taken little time in disillusioning him. There was to be no mentor - student relationship between them. Duncan had been disappointed at first, and Methos had seemed to rub salt in the wound with his "just a guy" act.

Methos was not just a guy. The man pulling boxes from a barge onto a dock along the quay, he was just a guy. Duncan barely gave him a glance as he jogged by, but suddenly, he had the oddest notion that the guy _was_ Methos. It was so strong that he turned to look, jogging backwards for a moment. He wasn't, of course, but Duncan knew that during some point in Methos's long life, he'd been exactly that guy.

Duncan thought about the dreams, or daydreams, or visions of Methos his overheated imagination had been giving him. Two, seven, twenty-five Methoses were not enough to encompass what he was. Methos times nine to infinity, that's what he wanted to take in his arms and into his bed.

  
Methos was still in curled up on the floor when Duncan returned to the barge. Duncan kicked off his shoes and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled off the sweatpants as well. The muffled sound of the concealed short blade clanking against the floor of the barge made Methos's head appear from the nest of blankets. His eyes widened at the sight of Duncan standing naked in the morning light, and widened even more as Duncan slid under the blankets with him.

"About time," Methos said. "And what have you been doing? You smell like a goat."

"Running," Duncan said.

"Running is overrated," Methos said, "this is better."

"This is... much better," Duncan agreed, breathless from Methos's hand against his cock.

Duncan didn't close his eyes, he was sure of it, but as he touched Methos, he seemed to multiply, and for a moment Duncan was taken by a vision of Methos fanning out behind himself in a V formation, with the one smiling and welcoming him at the apex -- then this vision faded, and there was only one Methos.

His.

  
\-------------------

One for sorrow,  
Two for joy,  
Three for a girl,  
Four for a boy,  
Five for silver,  
Six for gold,  
Seven for a secret,  
Never to be told,  
Eight for a wish,  
Nine for a kiss,  
Ten for a time  
Of joyous bliss


End file.
